


For Dried Cum and White Teeth

by Midge03



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, And Botox, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Chan bottom, Chan himbo, Degradation ish, Everyone is self centred, House Party, Loudmouthed Han, M/M, Minho top, Minho’s downfall, Name Calling, Office Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Smut, Talking down, Teeth kink, and rich, but those aren’t kink related dw, in depth discussions of teeth, minchan rise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29466330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midge03/pseuds/Midge03
Summary: Minho moves to a new city and a new job to find out that his boss’s teeth are, and have been for many years, the hot conversation topic between all the staff. He’s rather wary at first but when he sees them for himself, he finds it very difficult to tear his eyes away.OR: Minho becomes obsessed with his himbo of boss Chan’s ridiculously white teeth and wants to do nothing more than cum all over them.
Relationships: Bang Chan & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 13
Kudos: 102





	For Dried Cum and White Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching some high fashion vlogger talking about her veneers and thought “Wouldn’t Chan look positively ridiculous with super white teeth.”
> 
> Thus this.

“His teeth are fake, that’s what they say,” Jisung said to Minho vivaciously as the two seated themselves at the long table in the conference room.

“Well is that such a scandal?” asked Minho, intrigued by the turn of conversation but not forgetting to feel up the handles of the office chairs as they sat. They were sturdy and took his weight when he leaned; expensive ones.

“Of course it is!” said Jisung, not even bothering to expand, as if his words weren’t just words, but the holy truth.

“Why?” asked Minho again. “Do they pop out here and there or is it more of a veneers thing?”

“You see,” said Jisung, voice dropping an octave as he leaned in even closer. “No one knows. You’re a newbie, you have no idea how many hours we’ve spent on betting whether they’re ridiculously polished, veneers or maybe even a lab grown set.”

“Lab… lab grown set?” said Minho, eyebrows raising in disturbance, his attention finally fully on Jisung. The raise was fifty percent for the fact that the concept of “lab grown teeth,” came out of someone’s mouth and fifty percent that this kind of community could afford to participate in such conversations.

“Yep,” said Jisung, popping the p and leaning back so far into the seat it couldn’t have been comfortable. “My bet has been on it for three years now, and boy I tell you, too much of my savings depend on it.” Minho looked at Jisung incredulously. The guy was supposed to help him around on his first day but he had more wacky personal anecdotes than useful information. He seemed like a real himbo.

Jisung just looked back at Minho, fingers pressed together and eyebrows arched high in a “I know, impressed right?” kind of look. He had heavily misjudged Minho’s expression, and Minho could only sigh.

“Oh oh, he’s here,” Jisung cut off suddenly, straightening his posture at the sound of a door opening and closing. The loud chatter in the room from other suit clad employees tittered but did not stop. Minho furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“He’s really dumb,” said Jisung, this time kind enough to explain. “Even though he’s head of the company, Chan is more the face and less the brains. Made it there because of his father.”

“So you guys silence enough to not get fired but also to prevent showing respect?” confirmed Minho, somewhat perturbed. 

“Yes exactly, damn you’re a sharp one Minho,” said Jisung with a wide grin, slapping him heartily on the back like every loud mouthed suited man on this side of the country. Minho knew how it would be here the moment he stepped off the plane and saw the ridiculously clear blue sky and whitewashed buildings and the shininess of the company’s black lux vehicle waiting to take him to his new apartment. Everyone was the same here, it was a copy paste of the shallow people and wonderful weather from every Netflix real estate show.

So maybe that was why Chan had done what he’d done to his teeth, so that maybe he stood a chance of not being so similar. Minho hadn’t understood everyone’s obsession up until one moment ago, but he got it now. Oh he got it now.

Chan was a good twenty feet away from them, having seated himself at the head of the table, and had only spoken once, but the flash Minho saw when he opened his mouth had him blinded.

White. So white it was almost blue. Chan’s teeth glinted even through his closed mouth, the little slivers visible when he spoke sending light dancing all across the room. And when Chan threw his head back and laughed a little at a comment from the man on his right, Minho’s eyes watered. 

Each tooth was perfect; sharp and fitted so snugly into its home. Too perfect; like from a toothpaste ad where you know everything is edited and the light from the pixels is painfully bright for a midnight of shamefully watching HBO. 

But this time Minho couldn’t tear his eyes away. He was staring a little, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Jisung give a sympathetic smile.

That snapped Minho out of it and he turned away from Chan. He hadn’t even looked at the guy’s face properly; his existence seemed to be three quarters teeth.

“Impressed?” asked Jisung in a low voice.

“What are they?” said Minho, ignoring Jisung.

“Like I said dude, no one knows.”

“But they’re so… white.”

“Just try not to look at them again. If you do they’ll suck you in. We have a meeting to focus on.”

•••

When Minho had received an email from the highest selling company in the country, praising his sales skills and the amount of money he’d brought into his old office last year and inviting him to come work for them, he’d expected the highest quality of workplace conduct and an impeccable leadership system. Not _this;_ his new coworkers huddled together in their communal office, listening in rapture as this Changbin guy told them animatedly that the reason why Chan hadn’t shown his face in public for the last two months was because of a bad botox job. Men and women both, of the highest education most respected post, were chugging coffee and giggling at the story, some redhead girl gasping and feigning fainting at appropriate moments.

Minho just ignored them, rolling his eyes as Changbin’s volume went up and wiping the dust off the succulent his new team had gifted to him for his desk. Despite the people, the office was a lovely place, a large room with six desks and massive windows. The walls were also glass, giving a clear view of the hallways of the seventh floor, as well as of the terrace garden and city views. The white marble desks and fur rugs must have cost more than Minho’s old salary alone, but it was useless to scoff anymore. He sighed, pulling himself closer to the desk and turning on the computer. It was time to thrust himself into work, because how else does one escape the smell of overpriced air freshener.

•••

A week had gone by and things had settled down, like the intern now knew Minho’s coffee order off by heart and Jisung finally no longer dropped by every hour to “check if he needed help.” (It was actually so he could chat it up with their accountant, he’d been trying to get in her pants for weeks.) All things except one: Chan’s teeth. They just stuck out in Minho’s mind like a sore, ever present and ever painful. He should have been focused on familiarising himself with the company's suppliers and customers and reviving his already dying succulent, but it was something he couldn’t shake off. He understood the entire staff's obsession now, the bets and the way their entire work life revolved around their bosses over the top beauty procedures.

See it wasn’t just the teeth, Chan was overly botoxed, white from skin polishing and had a crop of fake, blonde hair thick enough to show up a badger. He strutted about the building in his tight suit, painfully unaware of just how aware everyone else was of which part of his face he’d gotten frozen recently or which facial he’d gone for this time. 

“Definitely a blackhead removal one,” said Jihyo, “His nose is a little shinier than usual today.” 

“No, that can be from just a usual extraction, I bet it’s a tea tree one because his face isn’t so red around the nose,” disagreed Felix, and violently gestured with his full coffee mug to the man discussing something with the PR guys across the glass.

This was how most of their day would pass, and even though it had disturbed and irritated Minho at first, he was getting more and more drawn in to this futile world of shallow conversations. He hadn’t thrown in any bets yet but he did have a few arduous theories of his own about Chan’s teeth.

“I’d like to see if they screw out,” said Changbin, pencil between his lips as he rocked back in his chair and slung his feet on the desk. The office had been quiet for the last few hours, certain upcoming monthly deadlines on the horizon, but a good discussion about Chan was never unwelcome. The girls looked up from their computers, intrigued, and Jeongin and Felix immediately set their pens down. Even Minho stopped typing and focused his ears on the room.

“Like he’s the robot or his entire jaw is an implant?” asked Dahyun, still clicking around with her mouse but clearly no longer invested in her work.

“I was thinking more like they put little mechanical holes in the gums so he could screw them out and get a new clean set every year. But the entire jaw thing still tracks…” he trailed off. 

“I’d like to pitch in the whole “He was a robot since birth,” theory,” threw in Felix. “That’s why his skin is still intact despite so much laser treatment.”

“If he’s a robot though,” started Jihyo, “Then he could just get a skin change from some mechanic in one go, why spend the money on laser.”

“That’s because he _can._ He’s so bloody rich that for him it’s about getting rid of the money before it becomes too much.”

“I doubt he loses much from all that, he should buy us all Porsches,” grumbled Jihyo like she didn’t already have a Mercedes. “I still stand by he’s a robot.”

“And I still stand by he never got any laser procedures done,” said Jeongin, standing up to walk over to the printer. Felix let out a small boo and Dahyun threw a ball of paper at him. “Hey! I don’t get why you guys are adamant he got laser, it has too much recovery time and too high a chance of skin damage. Pretty boy Chan wouldn’t do that to himself.”

“Lies!” cried Dahyun, flicking a pencil at Jeongin in disdain. Jeongin just shrugged it off and picked up his printout as Changbin laughed. 

“Bloody hell guys, there’s more important things than whether Chan got laser treatment or not.”

“Yeah,” said Jihyo in the background quietly. “Like him being a robot.”

“No,” said Changbin, spinning around in his chair. “More important things like what Minho thinks.” Everyone else in the office stopped what they were doing at those words and turned to look at the newbie. Minho jumped a little at being addressed, not wanting to let the rest of them know he’d been listening. Even if he was interested, he wasn’t going to stoop down as far as their level. He hadn’t talked to them much before either, mostly because their life was less work and more waste, so if he was being honest, he felt a little roped in by Changbin’s sudden question.

“I think,” he started, and everyone held their breath. This was a defining moment, Minho knew. “I think that you lot should get your work done, we have deadlines,” he said. There was a collective disappointed sigh and Changbin let out another Beefer style laugh.

“Oh so this is what it is huh? Bad sport in the building, I doubt you can even throw back a few drinks and loosen that tie of yours Min. You coming to the party tomorrow, or are you too much of a stickler?”

“What party?” asked Minho, choosing to ignore the nickname and comments about his very respectable work ethic.

“What- what party? Shit man, Jisung forgot to invite you didn’t he?” groaned Changbin, rolling his eyes and setting his feet down on the ground. “The one tomorrow evening at Hyunjin’s villa. It’s called an office party but trust me, that shit gets wild. Everyone comes, you should too.” 

“So this is my official invite?” said Minho.

“This is as official as it gets, coming from me,” said Changbin, grinning smugly and pointing at himself. Minho rolled his eyes.

“I’ll see, I might be busy,” he said, not sure if he wanted to go. Changbin snorted.

“Busy? You? No, you’re coming kid.”

•••

Come he did, because not only hours after Changbin’s crude invite, Jisung had even more crudely run into the office just when Minho was about to leave to tell him what he’d forgotten. Jisung, despite being both useless and dramatic, had been nice to Minho ever since he’d arrived so he felt it only polite to accept.

So now he was here, in Hyunjin’s million dollar villa equipped with a pool and a lawn of fake grass. Changbin had been right, everyone was here, spread out both out and inside, drinking and chatting under the spotlights and doing normal party things. 

And also not normal party things because this was a money event; a put it on a price tag, do a jig, rip off your pants and flail your dick in the air because it becomes allowed as soon you’ve hit the millionaire mark and have two overpriced cars sort of scenario. Hyunjin was over the top, that fact accentuated by the three black swans waddling across the patio trying to nibble on everyone’s designer shoes. Minho was leaning against the countertop of the bar with Jisung, looking at them skeptically.

“You look bored,” said Jisung, eyeing Minho and his full drink. The guy was wearing a suit jacket on top of some sleazy, striped pants; an outfit which would have looked good were it on anyone but Jisung. The guy was already on his fourth drink, chatting it up with who and whatever passed his line of vision. “Come on, have a drink, chill,” he insisted, since he was an insister. Minho, without even looking at the contents of his glass, took a sip, too focused on the swans.

“Did Hyunjin seriously bring zebras to his last party?” he asked Jisung.

“Oh the zebras? Yeah, he did,” said Jisung, sounding far too proud about it.

“That’s ridiculous,” said Minho. “A waste of money.” Jisung just laughed.

“Oh come on man, what’s a zebra here and there? You live the life of luxury now.”

“You mean whitewashed villas and imported palm trees? That’s luxury?” Jisung’s grin stayed on his face but his eyebrows furrowed slightly, like he knew what Minho was saying was offensive but was too dumb to know why. Instead he just gave the man a smack on the back and said “Yeah!” too loud. Minho raised his glass wearily in a cheers and the two drank.

“Anyways, I see Jihyo over there so I’m gonna go try my best. You… keep being bored. Bye!” said Jisung and he strutted off towards the girl, who was in a painfully red skintight dress and equally red lipstick. Minho looked on at the man in disbelief, unsure of when he’d realise that Jihyo was out of his league.

But his ego was too big to accept defeat. Everyone’s was here, they were all so obsessed with themselves that it took up their heads. Out of a staff strength of hundreds, half of them were divorced and half had given up on a lifelong relationship with anything because their relationships with sex, money and status were too all consuming.

It made Minho sick.

He decided the best way to survive this party was to drink. 

•••

No matter how much the middle class liked to think it, the rich did not wipe their asses with money to flex. No, instead they did things like get fake teeth and forget about real issues like world hunger, drowning it in marble floors and whiskey. True luxury is being so desensitised that one doesn’t have to feel guilt for the rest of the world.

So maybe it was wrong for Minho to participate, but in this moment he’d given in. He was enjoying this.

Especially Chan’s teeth, glinting ultra white in the fluorescent lights Hyunjin had had turned on. Too smooth; they made him look like a mannequin. Too white, like plaster of Paris. They shone more than ever, and through his drunken haze, swaying hotly with a bunch of stuck up strangers on the dance floor, Minho couldn’t look at anything else.

Chan was behaving quite well for someone of his repertoire, simply making amicable conversation with a group of people at the bar. He was wearing a silky button up, probably worth enough to feed a family for a year, and tight pants. But Chan always wore tight pants.

Were they tighter than usual today? Or had Minho just never noticed how round Chan’s ass was. He’d would have liked to say it was fake too but he knew that wasn’t true because an act like that was too starkly again Chan’s sense of “manliness.” It was a sense that existed more in a direct translation of his fitted suit jacket and less of his personality, because not a soul knew what that was. Chan’s aim was obvious; to be the epitome of Rich but still Man, and that annoyed Minho more than it should have. Probably because it was, funnily enough, the most unique take on life out of everyone here. How the himbo was the most “person” was strange, but Minho had no choice other than to give Chan credit for it.

That didn’t stop Minho from being irritated, probably because he considered _himself_ the most normal here. Or not, because now he was thinking about how Chan’s ass would probably feel so soft and supple in his palm, and tight and hot around his dick. Was the guy real, was he hot, or was he fake? Minho didn’t know but now he understood that he too was stuck thinking about Chan endlessly.

He pushed through the mass of bodies to get closer to the edge. It was cooler here, but thoughts of bending that Ken doll over the counter and fucking into him kept Minho feeling warm. He wondered how no one here had yet even tried that. Chan was a figurehead to everyone in the company, either forcibly mute or consciously so, and either way he looked willing. He looked like he would happily bend over, either out of sheer dumb density or a lack of care for what everyone thought of him.

And then Chan lifted his head up and let out a wide laugh, teeth on full display. The man smiled too much, it was obvious he wanted everyone to have a constant eyeful of what it hid.

Which was another thing that annoyed Minho, it was both egotistical and distracting. Minho was sure that if he could stuff his dick into Chan’s mouth he’d be able to cut off the laughs, and if he came on his face it would cut off the shine of his teeth perfectly.

Minho threw the remains of his drink down his throat and walked even closer. Oh how fun it would be to grab Chan by his hair and drag him off to a corner, take him off his high horse and use him to his heart’s content. Chan could use a few fucks here and there. 

But this wasn’t the place, or the time. Minho realised that when he swayed a little too far and ended up slumped next to a stool. He had a hazy memory of Jisung, covered in bright red lipstick stains, hoisting him up and dumping him in a taxi.

How Jisung had the strength to carry him, and how Chan hadn’t approached spray tan yet should have been the questions in the forefront of Minho’s mind. But instead, all he could think of was how he could not wait; he could not wait to cum all over Chan’s teeth and see just how yellow they made it look against their starkness.

•••

Minho knocked on the door to Chan’s office, waiting for a reply. There were certain papers his team needed signed before tomorrow morning and Chan was busy with a meeting so being the newbie, Minho had to wait around till eight for the man to be done. It was tiring and annoying because a long hungover day had rendered him exhausted, and because Chan probably hadn’t contributed to the meeting at all, there only because of his title. Minho just hoped Chan was free on time and he didn’t have to linger any longer, bed was certainly calling out to him.

Thankfully, a muffled voice said “Come in,” and Minho pushed open the door with relief. He stepped into the room, lit barely by a small lamp on the large, wooden desk, and was immediately hit with the sheer concentration of Chan’s perfume. He coughed, eyes watering.

“Who are you?” said Chan, his voice ringing through the soft, carpeted stillness of the room, and Minho quickly wiped his eyes and walked over to the man, who was hanging his suit jacket on the back of his chair. 

“I’m Minho, Sir,” he replied. “My team and I need these papers signed quickly, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Papers…?”

“Yes, papers.”

“Uh, well okay,” said Chan, tone slightly skeptical as though he’d never really been asked to do anything work related without assistance before. He sat down though, and gestured to Minho to give him the papers.

Minho stepped forward and put the stack of sheets down before stepping back. Chan’s perfume was worse up close, and if Minho could see clearly, his skin was unnerving matte. The hand with which he picked up his expensive ballpoint was manicured to perfection, not a cuticle or hangnail in sight, and his fingernails were perfectly filed. Just like the rest of him, Chan’s hands were entrancing. It was like staring into the face of AI, his existence bordering the uncanny valley. From afar, Chan looked exuberant, from up close, he looked like a hyper realistic computer animation.

Minho had been too entranced by Chan’s hands to notice that the guy hadn’t even started signing. He just looked up at Minho, expectant.

“Do… do you need my help?” asked Minho, and Chan nodded. Minho had to stifle a sigh and he leaned over and pointed at exactly the points Chan had to sign on. He wished it was out of sheer dumbness but from the way Chan sat and spoke, it wasn’t that. It was just plain old rich syndrome; a laziness and inability to break out of the norm because he _just didn’t have to._ The sight of someone lesser than him put Chan right back into his typical state of “Someone else will do it for me.” Maybe Minho had given Chan more personality than accounted for.

“Just this paper?” he asked, over enunciating the words.

“No there’s three… you know what let me just get them out for you.” Minho picked up the sheets and rifled through them slightly frustratedly, pulling out the three necessary and placing them on the desk. For good measure, he jabbed his finger at the exact spots on the papers. 

As he waited for Chan to slowly scrawl his frilly signature, Minho once again found himself watching the man. Even though the lighting was poor, Chan’s teeth still glinted every time he nibbled on his bottom lip.

Because objectively, Chan was handsome, very very handsome. Even though it was probably all fake, there was something so unnervingly alluring about his slim eyes and wide nose and even the teeth. Minho could easily imagine himself drawing tears out of the eyes and cumming on Chan’s face.

And then a memory, a recollection of a certain fantasy flashed through his mind. He’d been drunk to the point of death last night but he couldn’t forget the image his mind had conjured; the image of Chan’s teeth covered in his cum. 

A burn of curiosity swelled in Minho. How pretty would they look, coated in Minho’s spit and semen? Would Chan gather it off his teeth with his tongue and then swallow it? Or spit? Were Chan’s teeth really as smooth as they looked? If anything they looked cold, so icy in their shade. So so icy...

Minho couldn’t help it, he reached out and grabbed Chan’s jaw, pulling the man’s face towards him. Chan let out a muffled cry and grabbed Minho’s arm to steady himself. Minho would have liked to blame his impulsiveness on exhaustion but he couldn’t; with the teeth so close he was hypnotised. He’d fallen, maybe even lower than everyone else, because finally, he could admit it. He could admit that just a week here and he was just so dead curious. 

“Your teeth…” he mused, ignoring Chan’s reaction and letting the most twisted of his desires come through. “Are they real?” Chan let out a small garble, eyes widening as though that was the strangest question he’d ever heard.

“Of- of course they’re real. And… and what the fuck?,” he said, voice slightly muffled from Minho’s hands. Minho snorted. He softly ran a thumb over Chan’s velvety bottom lip, taking in how there wasn’t even a fleck of dead skin there. It was the treasure chest and Minho pulled, unhinging it to reveal the glittering set in all their pearly glory. 

“I don’t believe that,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “No one does. They’re just too white.” He ran a finger over them, absorbing just how smooth and warm they were and letting his fingernail drag along the dips and kinks. He was somewhere holy, he knew that. To see the teeth so up close, to feel them, this was something everyone in the company would die for. He had to savour the moment.

Which he did. He put down the papers in his hand and, against better judgment, grabbed a fistful of Chan’s hair and pulled it back violently. Chan yelped, kicking at Minho’s shins a few times but giving up rather quickly. Minho scoffed, so close to spitting out an insult about how the guy was more concerned for the polish of the leather of his shoes than his own safety.

“So what are they then, tell me Chan?” he lulled.

“I-I’m your boss. You- you can’t speak to me like that,” said Chan, eyes flicking around the room as though looking for some escape.

“You might have that title but trust me, no one respects you and your self obsessed ego,” replied Minho, removing his hand from Chan’s lips and gripping his cheeks. “Most of the people here think they’re veneers, but there’s other theories too.”

“I promise you they’re real,” insisted Chan, and Minho had to laugh. 

“Not a single hair on your head is real,” he said, combing through the thick, curly locks with his fingers. They were like silk threads, thin from bleaching and soft from endless products, their smell like that of heavenly grace. “Don’t even try tell me otherwise.”

“That’s it, I’m calling security,” said Chan, glaring at Minho and taking in a deep breath as if to start yelling. Minho sniggered with far too much confidence for what he was doing.

“You think security will help? They’ll walk in here and not do a thing because trust me, they want to know just as bad. What are your teeth made of Chan?”

“Nothing, I’m telling you! They’re real!” he continued, but his voice was getting too loud. Minho grabbed Chan’s tie and pulled him closer with it, narrowing his eyes at him disappointedly.

“Shut up bitch,” snarled Minho, “You’re getting too loud. If you keep this up I might have to put my dick in your mouth to shut you up.”

Vivid thoughts of stuffing Chan’s body with his dick had certainly passed through Minho’s mind in the last few minutes, though none too nobly, but what happened next was definitely unexpected. His boss, who’s gaze had previously been a painting of fear and irritation, stopped looking side to side fretfully, his eyes landing right on Minho’s face. His expression relaxed and a glimmer of what seemed to be longing flickered behind his eyes. Minho couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows in shock. 

“You… want that?” he asked. His tone was incredulous but he didn’t know why, Chan was such a paper cutout, of course was going to react like this. Chan didn’t respond, he just gulped and kept looking on at Minho expectantly. Minho let out a small laugh. 

“So you’re not just dumb, you’re a whore too. Letting some stranger come and push you about.”

“I’m not dumb,” said Chan, but he didn’t pull away, nor did he deny Minho’s other words.

“Oh you’re not dumb huh? That’s cute,” said Minho, and he straightened his posture and pulled Chan’s tie. “On your knees,” he instructed, and Chan obeyed with a manner so practiced it disturbed Minho. This was certainly not how he’d expected tonight to play through.

Minho could also tell how much, despite the keenness with which Chan fell to the floor, the guy wanted to complain about how the rough carpet would aggravate his knees or some other bullshit. But he stayed quiet, and it filled Minho’s veins with a false sense of power; a dull, aching one.

Because in the back of his mind, he knew this was a mistake. This was the opposite of everything he stood for; futile pleasure. One more move and he might as well start riding into work on a horse. But Jisung’s words rang through his mind stronger than his own, for Minho did live the life of luxury now.

And if luxury was fucking his boss’ mouth then so it be. He stepped forward, so close to Chan that his crotch was nuzzled right against the man’s nose. Chan didn’t even stir, and Minho smirked. 

“Dumb people are good at following instructions, so let’s see how dumb you really are. Go on, suck me off.”

Without even hesitating, Chan reached out and undid Minho’s pants, not even trying to make sufficient space for his hands. He just mouthed at Minho’s bulge, grazing over the navy fabric with his teeth until Minho got bored and rutted up.

“Come on boss, I want your mouth around my dick, not on it,” he said, and Chan finally reached into Minho’s underwear, pulling his half hard dick out. Without waiting, Chan wrapped his lips around the tip and started sucking. 

Minho let out a sigh, tangling his hands in Chan’s hair as he filled out in the man’s mouth. There was an undeniable pleasure about not just feeling Chan’s teeth and his strangely smooth, almost chaffed tongue on his fingers, but also all over his core. The scrape of Chan’s canines along his skin as he pulled back Chan’s head and started thrusting into it made Minho feel giddy, less with the pleasure and more with the scope of it. It was like looking at a beautiful sunset; it was just too aweing to fully comprehend.

But that wasn’t fair on Minho, he’d come this far, he deserved to comprehend. He pushed in further, tip hitting the back of Chan’s throat. Chan took in a sharp breath, eyes pooling with water, and Minho sniggered.

“You like it? Choking on dick like you were made to?” he taunted, pushing Chan’s head further. Chan gagged, pulling off and coughing, but Minho barely gave him a moment before he pushed the blonde back on. Chan whined, spluttering around Minho’s length and grappling at the younger’s thighs in mercy, but Minho kept him there, grinning and starting to thrust. 

Chan didn’t gag this time, instead looking up at Minho with watering eyes as he took him all the way. Even amongst all the wet, slippery sensations of Chan’s throat pleasuring him, Minho couldn’t avoid staring at Chan’s plucked eyebrows and curled eyelashes. If Minho had felt the slightest bit bad about this before, he didn’t now, because the way Chan was so done up in every form possible proved that the man was not his own. Why else would he be so obsessed with how he looked, if he wasn’t going to please someone else with it. 

So as time went on, Minho felt less and less like he was fucking his boss’ face and more and more like he was using a little bow tied gift for its sole purpose. And the epitome was coming, Minho could feel it knotting in his stomach. To live the reality of it was something else and Minho started to feel giddy with anticipation. He started thrusting harder, likely painfully so, but Chan kept still until Minho took in a sharp breath, pulled out, and came all over Chan’s half open mouth. 

He didn’t let Chan close it, because this was the ultimate prize. He stuck his fingers inside the mess of cum and spit pooled on Chan’s tongue, and smeared it across the man’s lips and more importantly, his teeth. Then Minho stood back to admire.

It really was everything Minho had imagined. Chan’s teeth were fluorescent like this, contorting Minho’s cum to a sickening yellow against their sheerness in the epitome of what Chan was. He was polished and pointless, like the scene in front of Minho. Just for fun, because that was everyone’s life here. Just for fun, like what Minho’s life was going to come if he kept going.

“Swallow,” he said, and Chan obeyed. He licked, collecting the slobbery mess and then swallowing it down, wincing afterwards like he hadn’t even thought about how gross it was before. Bits of it remained, already beginning to dry in a thin, papery layer over his voluptuous lips. Minho wouldn’t have wanted to kiss that mouth even if it were clean, it would probably feel and taste like a plastic packaged jelly. 

“Tell me Chan,” said Minho after a few moments of admiration, “Do you ever get fucked?” This was it. This was the breaking point. “Do you want me to fuck you?” This was the broken point.

Chan nodded. Without hesitation. Like everything he was doing right now, it was such a jarring difference from his reluctance to do “work” earlier. But it felt good, to have a collectors item like him so eager to please.

Minho reached out and grabbed Chan’s tie, pulling the man up with it. Chan hadn't expected the tug and he lurched, climbing unsteadily to his feet like a drunk man. Minho was the opposite, his high having turned into a semblance of sober, but he was sure that the both of them were riding on the same dose of adrenaline. As Minho pushed Chan around and bent him over the desk he wondered what in Chan made the guy let a subordinate push him around like this. He had so much power, this situation could have just as easily been the other way, and for a man as filial as him power is the best high.

But seemed to care for none of that. He just squirmed when Minho ran his palms over the swell of his ass, squeezing and slapping. He groaned as he rutted down against his desk, wanting more but not begging for it; well behaved. Minho undid the belt and pulled off Chan’s pants, revealing the man’s hole; pink and, of course, bleached. And raw. It was raw and shiny, like it had just been used, the muscles smooth and gaping. Minho furrowed his eyebrows, pushing three fingers in with ease. 

“It looks like it just got fucked,” he said, puzzled and curious.

“Well it did,” said Chan, tone half interested because he was more focused on pushing back onto Minho’s fingers than anything else. Minho was still puzzled, his mind wandering all the possibilities but not limiting them to moral actions because he knew Chan was “capable” of more. 

“Shit, do you let all those snobby CEOs and chairmen fuck you at those meetings?” he finally asked, the fingers inside Chan stilling. Chan barely regarded Minho’s tone, reaching back and grabbing the man’s hand to put the fourth finger in before pushing back and swallowing Minho’s knuckles up with a groan. 

“Meetings?” he said, voice on the verge of breathless. “More like orgies.”

“Fuck…” said Minho, speechless. “That’s why the company is doing so well.” Chan just shrugged.

“Well, that’s a bonus,” he said, and he turned around to give Minho a grin; a flushed, sloppy grin that only the most dense of people give. Minho scoffed, eyebrows arched, and pulled his fingers out of Chan’s warm hole. 

“So everyone was right,” he said. “You deserve no respect, you didn’t even whore yourself out for the company's sake.”

“Well would you have wanted me to? Because if I hadn’t you wouldn’t be here, with a perfect job, ready to use me.” Chan said the last phrase with such unaudaultered sureness that Minho wanted to just grab his papers and leave, just to prove him wrong, but it was unfortunate that he didn’t have the willpower. Chan’s hole was ready, overly so, the wet rim clenching and unclenching, clenching and unclenching, again and again until Minho folded. He grabbed the lube Chan was holding, opening the bottle and pouring it on his hand. He coated himself before slipping into the warm hole with a heavy breath. 

“Fuck, that feels good,” said Chan, gripping his desk tightly as Minho began to thrust. “You’re big.”

“Big enough for a slut like you huh? What a compliment,” said Minho, and he pushed a few fingers into Chan’s hole as well. Chan groaned, back arching as Minho brushed repeatedly against his prostate. 

“Yes, yes, big enough,” he breathed, starting to bounce back and meet Minho half way. His ass slapped against Minho’s thighs in a sharp sting, and it was a sound Minho would never forget. It was the sound of purgatory from his old life, a mixture of squelches, moans, slaps and the slam of a coffin lid. 

He was one of them now.

He came, filling Chan with a dribble of semen, and soon enough Chan came, spurting white ropes all over his desk. Heavy breaths filled the air for the next minute until Minho finally pulled out. Objectively this was all wrong. So so wrong. He needed to leave, he should have left ages ago, but was there a point in fighting it? No, there wasn’t.

“Chan,” he said, running a thumb over Chan’s shiny, stretched asshole. He was tired, sweat dripping down the side of his forehead, but still, out of all the things he’d learned today, only one stood out in his mind. “Are your teeth real?” 

Chan replied without hesitating.

“No.”

**Author's Note:**

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